


Make Me Your Aphrodite

by wolfpackof1



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin
Genre: F/F, F/M, Falling In Love, Femslash February, POV Multiple, Pregnancy, Robert's Rebellion
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-20
Updated: 2014-03-12
Packaged: 2018-01-13 03:34:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 3
Words: 18,394
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1211068
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wolfpackof1/pseuds/wolfpackof1
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>She's going to turn on the charm tonight and get what she wants tonight, even if it kills her.</p><p>Ashara looks to a different Stark at Harrenhal.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

PART I: HARRENHAL

Ashara doesn't think she's ever seen the Kingsguard seem quite so…plotty.

She is on her way into her lady's chambers, which are guarded tonight by Ser Oswell Whent and Ser Jonothor Darry. Normally they would stand like pillars outside the door, silent and still until dismissed, but tonight their heads are bent close together as Ser Oswell whispers earnestly to his brother.

"Good evening, sers," she calls, and Darry startles. Both men straighten immediately.

"Good evening, my lady," Ser Oswell greets her respectfully. Ashara smiles and ducks her head politely as she pushes past them. As she closes the door behind her, she can hear the hissed conversation start up again. _Gossiping like a pair of old women,_ she thinks.

It isn't the first time this has happened, either. Yesterday she was sure she interrupted something between Darry and Ser Barristan, and earlier in the week there was a similar incident with Ser Barristan and Ser Oswell.

Perhaps Arthur would tell her, if she asked. But she isn't sure she wants to know. Her intuition has yet to lead her astray, and Ashara has a bad feeling about this.

Princess Elia sits her simple wooden chair at her vanity as if it is a throne, and Ashara's tension lessens slightly. The princess is smiling as one of her lady's maids combs out her fine, dark hair.

"Ashara," she says warmly. "How is the princess?"

"Sleeping soundly, my lady. She gave me no trouble." The princess Rhaenys herself was a sweet baby, just now beginning to walk, and as pretty as her mother. For all the difficulty her birth had caused her mother, Ashara thought, Elia deserved an easy child.

Elia dismisses her maid, and pulls a chair up for Ashara. "Sit," she commands, and Ashara does. "I have a bit of exciting news."

At this Ashara raises an eyebrow. "Is that so, my lady?"

"There's to be a great tourney at Harrenhal. Ser Oswell's brother has announced it." Elia's dark eyes are bright, and Ashara is curious. The princess has not left the Red Keep in nearly two years, since just after she had become pregnant, but she has of late seemed healthier and close to her former self. _Could this mean she will be attending?_

Elia can undoubtedly see the question on Ashara's lips before she can figure out how to ask it politely. She laughs. "Yes, my dear. I believe it is time we left this castle, wouldn't you say?"

\-----

Lyanna and Benjen are riding in through the Hunter's Gate when the raven flies overhead. She exchanges a quick look with her brother and they are turning their horses for the maester's turret as a second raven, swooping low enough to see the tiny scroll tied to its leg, joins the first.

"A tourney!" Lyanna exclaims, grinning widely. She's never been to one before, only played at swords with her brothers and tilted at rings in the yard, and is incredibly excited. Poor, harried Maester Walys, still untying the second scroll, smiles up her tiredly, as though he is already anticipating the inevitable argument between her and Lord Rickard.

"What's that one?" Benjen asks, peering over Walys' shoulder. "Ned's going to be there as well!" Since he fostered in the North, Benjen and Lyanna were able to see Brandon frequently enough; and besides, now that he was grown he spent more time in Winterfell. Ned, however, they hadn't seen in close to four years.

Walys takes the letters to Lord Rickard's study, where he normally sits at this hour. Benjen and Lyanna follow at his heels like a couple of puppies.

"Please, father!" Benjen bursts out as they enter. Rickard looks up from his papers, reserved as ever.

"There's been ravens from Harrenhal and the Eyrie," Maester Walys tells him as he produces the scrolls from inside his robes. "It seems there's to be a tourney for Lord Whent's daughter."

Rickard nods. "And word from the Eyrie, you said?"

"Aye. Your son will be attending."

Benjen is dancing from foot to foot. "May we, father? Please?"

"Let's discuss it after dinner."

Lyanna can hardly finish her stew that night. _He'll say yes. He has to say yes. Right?_ She's barely breathing by the time Lord Rickard has his plate cleared and turns to her and Benjen and Brandon, who rode in just before they sat down to eat.

"I'm not going," he says without pretense. "If you would like to attend," he continues, addressing Brandon, "you have my permission. You may take your brother and sister as well." Benjen bounces in his seat, and Lyanna cannot help but let out a tiny, happy squeak."

Father, however, is not done speaking. "Under no circumstances, however," he says more seriously, now turning to face her and Benjen, "are either of you to participate. Do I make myself clear?" Lyanna thinks he looks at her just a second too long. _He knows. He always knows._ She lets out a sigh.

"Understood, my lord." Benjen nods next to her.

Lord Rickard nods, and his face softens. "Send my best to Ned," he tells them, and Lyanna is grinning again.

 

A lady's maid - more well dressed than any Lyanna's seen before, but still undoubtedly a maid - brings the invitation to the Starks' tent before Brandon and Benjen and Gavin Poole have even finished hanging the door.

"It's from the Princess Elia, m'lady," the girl tells her, dropping a short curtsy. Lyanna can see her taking in her riding trousers, still spattered with mud. "You're invited to dine with her tonight. All the ladies from the great houses are."

She thanks the girl and dismisses her, then turns to Brandon. "What do you think?"

"I think you had better find something more appropriate to wear," he teases. "Dinner with the princess, eh? I had no idea coming south would make you so ambitious. Why, at this rate, you'll be queen in less than a moon!"

Princess Elia's tent alone is larger than that of the three Starks, a bold orange silk structure set up in the midst of somber blacks and reds. As she approaches, two men exit. One wears the unmistakable white silk cloak of the Kingsguard; he remains just outside the entrance of the tent after exchanging a few words with the other man.

He is tall and well-dressed, in a dark doublet. In the failing evening light Lyanna can't quite make out the device on the pin that holds his cloak on, but his bright hair gives him away anyway.

The crown prince, Rhaegar Targaryen.

As if he has heard her thoughts, the prince looks up, meeting her eyes. "You are here to sup, my lady?" he asks, his voice more melodious than she would expect from a prince, as though he spends his time singing rather than shouting commands on a battlefield (although if the stories that reach Winterfell are to be believed, this is exactly the case).

Lyanna nods. "Yes, my l- your highness," she finishes clumsily.

He looks down at her dress, gray with white silk. "A Stark," he says quietly, almost to himself, and then "Good evening, my lady," and sweeps past her.

She is left at the entrance of the tent with only the Kingsguard, who is looking after the prince with an expression that seems almost suspicious. After a moment, he holds open the door for her to enter.

Inside, the pavilion is hung with dozens of bright tapestries and brightly lit. Ladies talk and laugh and drink in every corner, many dressed in their House colors, and Lyanna is glad for her gray. The women are all lovely and sophisticated and many have brought friends or maids, and rarely has she felt like such a girl before.

A young woman in lilac approaches her. "Lady Stark?"

"Just Lyanna is fine," she answers, feeling shy.

"Are you by yourself?" the girl asks, and though there is no judgment in her tone, Lyanna feels defensive nonetheless.

"I am. Why? Is that an issue?" She knows she is being rude, but she just can't help it - sometimes, she has heard her father say about her, the only way she knows how to solve a problem is by being an even bigger problem.

The girl looks at her appraisingly for a moment then, to her surprise, smiles. Her eyes are a light purple and laugh with the rest of her face, and suddenly Lyanna thinks she may like her.

"Right this way, Lady Stark," the girl says, and Lyanna is ushered to meet the princess before even having a chance to ask the girl's name.

\-----

Ashara isn't sure if it was a blessing or a curse that Guinna Rykker had stepped up to welcome Lady Minisa, leaving her with the Lady Stark, who had arrived next.

The girl is too bold from the start, which Ashara likes, and beautiful in a subtle way, her gray eyes growing fiery in a way that nearly made her catch her breath. She is young, though, nearly too young, but the guilt from this is swallowed up by the fact that once again, Ashara is left feeling light-headed and infatuated - things that she expected to feel as an unwed maiden of nineteen - by a girl.

She watches her through the feast, disappointed and relieved in equal measure that the Lady Stark has been seated a ways down the table from her. Lyanna is courteous and her manners impeccable, as is to be expected from the daughter of a great house, but she speaks little to the women around her, and even fidgets between courses. Ashara wonders if she is merely young or if there is another reason she seems so uncomfortable.

Putting the Stark girl out of her mind, she turns to Elia, holding court at the head of the table. It is so good to see her like this, in her element, clearly enjoying herself - she had been so withdrawn for months after Rhaenys was born. _She deserves this happiness_ , Ashara thinks.

She had been like this just after marrying Rhaegar, but as it quickly became evident that there was little passion between the two, Elia had cooled as well. Ashara had often wondered if it was mutual, or if Elia had wanted more from her husband who was more content to wander a desolate, crumbling ruin and play his harp than enjoy his beautiful young wife. When she learned she was with child, her spirits had brightened some, but she had fallen ill almost immediately, and remained frail until quite recently.

Ashara worries, too, about her health should she decide to try for a boy. Elia has spoken to her about it before, lamenting the fact that her daughter will not inherit and that Rhaegar has hinted more than once that he needs an heir. She agrees with her that the Dornish have the right of it on this matter, at least.

After the cheese has been served and the ladies are preparing to take their leave, Ashara watches Lyanna once more. She is hovering near the door, looking unsure as to whether she should stay or go, and Ashara bites her lip. _It would only be right to say good night, would it not?_

"I hope you enjoyed your dinner, my lady," she says as she approaches, and Lyanna looks up.

"I did."

Ashara thinks to make a comment on the food, but instead surprises herself with her next words. "May I walk you back to your tent?"

Lyanna looks taken aback, and Ashara quickly adds, "It wouldn't be proper for a young lady to walk unattended, would it?"

At this Lyanna wrinkles her nose, and Ashara wants to laugh, thinking the girl is likely about to tell her she could care less about what is appropriate for a young lady.

She also can't help but think there is nothing proper about the thoughts she herself has had this evening about the young lady either.

Outside the tent, Arthur stands guard. He takes one look at Ashara watching Lyanna and she can immediately tell he is trying not to laugh. Ashara narrows her eyes at him and he mimes locking his mouth and throwing away a key. How infuriating. She'll be sure to have words with him later.

As soon as they are out of Arthur's sight, Ashara takes Lyanna's arm to walk. She is small, for a girl, and Ashara is taller, and Lyanna's arm feels so little under her own. They walk slowly, in silence, and Ashara thinks to make some comment on the pleasant weather of the evening when Lyanna speaks first.

"I never caught your name, my lady," she says, sounding shy.

"Ashara Dayne," she answers. Why does Lyanna seem reticent suddenly? Does she not want to be here with her? Perhaps it was too forward to ask to walk with her.

Lyanna seems to consider this for a moment. "You're from Dorne, are you not?" she asks.

"I am."

They walk on in silence some more, and Ashara is left wondering what Lyanna meant by her question. Mere curiosity?

As they near the Starks' tent, Lyanna finally turns to her. "It was good of you to walk with me," she says, then hesitates. "Tell me something, Lady Ashara. Is it true that in Dorne, women are more…free?"

She thinks she understands then. "Perhaps not in the way you are thinking. It is true that an elder girl may inherit, and be respected as a leader, but I believe my father would be no happier than yours would be if, say, I decided I wanted to train as a knight."

Lyanna bites her lip then, and Ashara is too distracted to realize this probably means she is dissatisfied with the answer she has been given.

"No," she says. "I mean - well, what if you didn't want to marry?"

Ashara smiles a little sadly. "You are hardly the first girl in any of the seven kingdoms to be nervous about her wedding. Are you betrothed, Lady Lyanna?"

"Yes, but that's not the point. What if, say, you wanted to marry a girl? Is that done in Dorne?" Her tone is earnest, but the question makes Ashara's heart stutter a moment. Surely she cannot be implying what she thinks?

"I- no, girls do not marry one another in Dorne," she tells her, and Lyanna's face falls slightly. Before she can lose her nerve, Ashara continues, "But that does not mean they cannot do…other things." She pauses, then adds "good night, my lady."

She turns and leaves quickly, heart pounding, without waiting for a response.

\-----

Lyanna is so preoccupied the next day that she nearly misses the fight all together.

She is walking back from the smith's tent, holding her skirts up so as not to drag them in the morning dew and idly swinging Brandon's newly-made tourney sword. What did Lady Ashara mean, other things? Like men and women do? And was she talking about herself? Though she was promised to marry Robert, that didn't really mean anything, at least not yet - she had barely met him, and certainly did not love him. And she had never wanted to kiss anyone before now.

"Dirty frogeater!"

The shout rings out from across the field, and Lyanna jerks her head around for the source of the noise.

Near the edge of the grassy expanse, three boys barely older than herself surround a fourth figure, huddled and lying on the ground. Before even making a decision, Lyanna is across the field and on the boys in an instant.

Right away she can see that they are squires, and she marks their sigils carefully - a pitchfork on one, a porcupine on another, and the third clearly bearing the two towers of Frey.

The boy on the ground - young man, really, as she gets a glimpse of his bloodied face - wore a strange pair of greenish leather trousers and a shirt sewn with what look to be bronze scales. He is very small, and barefoot. A few feet away from him lies a crude pronged spear, snapped in three pieces.

A crannogman, she thinks. She's never met one before, though they are sworn to her house and she's been riding in the Neck before. Suddenly, her sense of injustice being done becomes all the more heightened.

"Hey!" she roars, bringing up the sword. "That's my father's man you're kicking!" Without thinking she lays into the squires, knocking one on the back of the head with the blunted edge of the sword, swinging it around to hit another in the stomach, and flat-out head-butting the third. In an instant they are gone. Cravens, she thinks. Too craven to even fight any that would fight back, even a girl. She spits on the ground, then kneels next to the crannogman.

He makes no noise, and for a moment she is very frightened - but no, he is conscious, only afraid. His eyes are shut tightly, and a single tear tracks down through the dirt and blood on his face. Very gently, Lyanna touches his shoulder to turn him onto his back.

"Can you walk?" she asks him, as quietly as if she spoke to a wounded animal. Slowly, his eyes open. He takes her in for a moment, then nods.

"Good," she says. "Come with me."

Ned has arrived when she reaches the Starks' tent with the crannogman in tow, but she barely has a glance to spare the brother she has not seen in four years, so preoccupied is she with her find.

"We need bandages! And clean water," she orders Benjen, who runs off to find supplies. "Help me!" she pleads, and Brandon lifts the little man who has been leaning heavily on her shoulder to a camp bed.

Lyanna spends nearly a quarter of an hour cleaning and bandaging the crannogman's wounds before she is finally satisfied.

She turns to Ned, who has been watching her as she worked with a bemused look on his face. "Brother," she says fondly, and he breaks into a grin and folds her in his arms.

"Lyanna. You've caused quite the stir, haven't you," he laughs. "How have you been?"

"Well, thank you," she answers courteously. "And yourself?"

"Very good. Your manners are excellent, my lady," he says and at this she hits him. "Well. I take that back."

She knows that he knows very well she has been trained to be a lady, though the constraints of such expectations chafe her at times. "Did you only just arrive? How was the journey?"

"It was fine. Robert and I made good time. He's very much looking forward to see you," and at this she has to suppress an eye roll. He knows too her feelings on the subject of Robert, but they are friends, and she doesn't want to hurt her brother or appear rude.

"Well, Lyanna. Aren't you going to introduce us to your friend?" Brandon asks, then throws his head back and laughs loudly.

She hurries over to the cot, where Benjen is taking away the last of the soiled cloths she used to clean the crannogman's wounds. The man is lying quietly but awake, taking in the scene with watchful green eyes.

"I'm Lyanna Stark," she tells him, "and these are my brothers Brandon, Ned, and Benjen." She gestures to each of them in turn.

He looks to the boys, then clears his throat. "I'm Howland Reed," he says. "From-"

"Greywater Watch," Brandon finishes. "You are very welcome here, Howland of House Reed. Your family has served ours well in the past."

Howland - _Lord_ Reed, Lyanna supposes, though he seems less like a lord than any noble heir she has ever met - stays in their tent the rest of the afternoon, talking to her and her brothers. Listening, really, as it is hard for such a quiet man to get a word in edgewise with Brandon boasting and laughing and Benjen pestering Ned for stories from the Vale. Before she leaves to change into her gown for the evening's feast, she invites the crannogman to attend with them.

"Come," she begs him. He isn't as exciting company as she could hope for - she's sure he has hundreds of fascinating tales about living in the Neck, but he's scarcely spoken the entire afternoon - but she knows he will be staying alone tonight, and the image of him sitting by himself as everyone important celebrates the beginning of the tournament is too sad to think about. Finally he agrees, and Benjen runs off to find him something to wear. He is of an age with Ned, but near as small as her and her youngest brother.

The feast is the largest and grandest event Lyanna has ever attended, and she felt a little overawed, though she tried hard not to show it. She sat between Benjen and Dacey Mormont, who was always entertaining, across from Howland Reed.

She was craning her neck trying to get a glimpse of the high table (just to see what sort of gown the princess was wearing, no other reason, she told herself) when the prince rises, harp in hand.

"I'd like to play a song I wrote," he announces, his voice light but with an unmistakable tone of command.

The tune he plays is slow, and more melancholy than such a merry event really merits, though no one would ever presume to tell the crown prince this. His fingers pluck the harp strings deliberately, carefully, and Lyanna is absently admiring the music when he begins to sing.

Later she cannot remember the words, only that they carry more pain than she can really understand, and before she realizes it, the song is over and Benjen is laughing at her, the spell broken.

"Lyanna's crying!" he yells, and she is furious. "I certainly am not," she growls at him, and abruptly tips her cup of wine over his head.

"That's it," Brandon says, standing, and her heart sinks. "It's time for both of you to get to bed."

Suddenly she and Benjen are on the same side, pleading to stay up just a little later, they wanted to see the dancing - and then she spots the squires.

"There!" she shouts, but Howland has already spotted them.

Benjen turns his head to look at the boys, who are on a bench not far away cat-calling at a serving girl. "That's the ones that hit you? You should challenge them tomorrow," he suggests, excited. "I could find you a horse, and some armor that might fit."

Howland smiles, but it seems strained, as though he isn't sure. "Thank you," he tells Benjen.

"All right, I was serious! Neither of you need to stay around for the dancing. Get a move on," Brandon cuts in, and Benjen and Lyanna make their way back to the Starks' tent.

\-----

Elia has sent her ladies away for the night, Ashara thinks, in the hopes that Rhaegar will come and share her bed once more. She knows they have not lain together since not long after Rhaenys was conceived. Elia chalks it up to him being away for part of her pregnancy, and her frail condition after delivering.

They both know Elia is lying to herself. But it is not Ashara's place to say so, and even if it were, she would not for the love she bears Elia. Sometimes the idea of Rhaegar makes her so angry on her friend's behalf. _He does not deserve her._

Regardless, she finds herself without a place for the night. Elia is a good friend, but she is a princess too, and it would not occur to her to consider where her ladies-in-waiting would sleep when she asked them to stay out of her tent. For a moment Ashara is tempted to consider visiting the Starks' tent - but she puts that idea out of her head quickly. That was a dangerous line of thinking, and besides, what if Ned was there? She had been amused earlier when his brother Brandon had approached her asking for a dance on his behalf, but Ned had turned out to be a silent partner, keeping his gaze trained somewhere over her shoulder save for every so often when he would glance at her and blush. He had proved a far less entertaining companion than Oberyn, whom she knew well and who was an excellent dancer, or even Jon Connington, who had only insulted Rhaegar the entire time and then stepped on her feet as he craned his neck to try to get a better view of the prince. No, she had felt no more passion with Ned than she had dancing with…

Arthur. That was it. He had his own tent that would probably go unused as he was set to guard Elia later tonight. The only problem would be finding him now, and after a moment's consideration she decides to try the armorer's tent first.

She pulls back the door and enters, the shadows high in every corner. A light sits on a table near the back wall and Ashara can hear the sounds of someone digging through a pile of clanking metal. "Arthur?" she calls. His, however, is not the face that pops up at the sound of her voice.

It is Lyanna's.

Her protests begin before Ashara even has time to react, though her heart has immediately started beating twice as hard. "I'm so sorry, I was only borrowing, I didn't mean-" Lyanna breaks off, squinting at her in the half light. " _Ashara?_ "

"Borrowing what?" Ashara asks, surprising even herself that this is the first question out of her mouth. Lyanna looks around guiltily, then bites her lip. "Are you alone?" she asks, and Ashara's chest tightens.

"I am."

Lyanna stands, holding a pile of what looks like mismatched armor, and hands her a heavy wooden shield. "Then come with me," she says, exiting the tent without even looking behind to see if Ashara will follow.

She doesn't have to.

Lyanna leads them to a distant corner of the big field, far from the eyes and ears of any in the camp still awake at this hour ( _stop_ , Ashara tells herself, _she's just a girl, stop this_ ) and unceremoniously dumps her pile of armor on the grass.

"I'm going to enter the lists," Lyanna announces without preamble. "Not tomorrow, probably. The second day." She says this so matter-of-factly that for a moment Ashara doesn't comprehend what she's said.

"You're what?"

Lyanna huffs out a breath. "Don't be stupid like everyone else," she says. "I'm going to enter the lists, and there's nothing you can do to stop me."

"But you're-" Ashara starts to protest, a fourteen-year-old girl going against some of the finest knights in the realm, then takes in Lyanna's defiant stance and has to stifle a grin. "Of course. You're going to joust. For the honor of House-" she glances for the first time at the shield she carried out here, dark brown in the dim light with an unfamiliar winged chalice "-whose sigil is this, anyway?"

Lyanna looked at it, face falling. "Oh. I don't even know."

She looks so sad standing there, a little girl in a pile of mismatched steel, that Ashara's heart goes out to her. "All right. Wait here a moment," she tells her, and runs back to the camp.

It would be unthinkable, normally - why would she ever break into a mummer's tent? - but for Lyanna, doing the unthinkable seems about right. Ashara slips through the door and grabs the box of paints before flying back across the field, this time carefully carrying the large wooden container.

Lyanna's eyes light up when she sees it, and Ashara is doubly struck - both by how Lyanna looks with wonderment etched on her face (that she put there) and by just how young Lyanna looks.

"What would you want painted?" Ashara asks her.

The girl's grin falls from her face. "I…I'm not certain. Here I am trying to be a knight, and you must think me only a fool."

Ashara smiles, and shakes her head. "All men are fools, and all men are knights," she tells her, then leans in and raises Lyanna's chin with a finger. "But we are not men," she whispers, and is rewarded by hearing the catch in Lyanna's breathing. _Good_.

"Now, what can I do for you?" she asks, opening the box.

Lyanna bites her lip, and Ashara immediately feels herself losing whatever upper hand she might have just gained. "What color paint do you have?" she asks.

"I can mix them. Any color you want."

Lyanna thinks on it another moment. "Can I tell you why I'm jousting?"

"Of course you can." Ashara is taken aback. "I had assumed it was just because you wanted to."

"It is. I mean, my father forbade it - that was the condition on which I was allowed to come here. But I was planning on listening to him. Until today."

"What happened today?"

"It was the little crannogman, Howland Reed. They were beating him, over there a ways, these three squires, and I got so _angry_. And then later we saw them, at the feast, and they were acting like such little bullies. Someone needs to teach them a lesson, they should be punished, and I know Howland wants to but he won't do it and-"

Ashara holds up a hand. "Stop. Who is Howland? And why do you need to exact revenge on his behalf? Jousting can be dangerous, Lyanna."

Lyanna rolls her eyes. "Please. I'm more capable than half the men out there. Howland is a crannogman, my father's man. He's staying with us. But I heard him, before he went to sleep tonight, praying to the old gods for vengeance."

That still didn't make much sense, but it gives Ashara an idea. She mixes a stark gray paint to cover the base of the shield, then adds a gnarled white tree with red leaves. She does not know much about the old gods, but is familiar at least with the look of a weirwood.

Lyanna has crept to her side and is leaning over her. "That's perfect," she says, and Ashara looks at her and smiles. Lyanna looks back at her, smiling widely at the shield and then more tentatively when she sees Ashara. Her eyes flick to Ashara's mouth a moment, then away, and Ashara catches a faint blush. _Excellent_ , she thinks, and lets out a laugh.

Clearly flustered, Lyanna tries to recompose herself. "A face, though. It needs a face." Still grinning, Ashara looks down at the tree. She takes the red paintbrush and carefully draws on two eyes and a wide smile. Lyanna looks down at it and howls.

"Ashara! Weirwoods don't smile!"

"This one does," she tells her, then lets her own smile drop. "In all honesty, though, I worry about you entering the lists."

Lyanna is dismissive, waving a hand. "I'll only challenge the knights whose squires hit Howland. I'm sure they're not very good, and besides, I am very good," she boasts, and Ashara thinks she is trying to sound older and confident and failing at it.

"And if you do beat them? Do you really expect you can win against someone like, say, Ser Barristan, who has been winning jousts since he was ten? Or Oberyn Martell? Or, Seven forbid, my brother?"

Lyanna looks confused. "Who is your brother?"

"Arthur Dayne? The finest knight on the Kingsguard?"

"Oh. I didn't know he was your brother. He's with Prince Rhaegar mostly, isn't he?" This last remark is offhand, and sounds a touch too casual to Ashara. "What do you know of Rhaegar?"

"Nothing," Lyanna shrugs, and Ashara's sure her nonchalance is feigned. "I only saw him play at the feast tonight."

 _There it is_ , Ashara thinks. _Another girl won by his ridiculous harp_. She could be cruel, and tell Lyanna to dream on, that Rhaegar loves his harp more than any woman - including his wife. But she won't. "My lady, it is getting late. I should bring you back." Ashara stands.

She can tell Lyanna is surprised by the sudden courtesy, and the girl pouts. "It's not like you dragged me out here, you know."

"No, I didn't. In fact, as I recall, it was almost the other way around, wasn't it?" And just like that, Ashara sees an opening. _I mustn't_ , she thinks, but it is her heart that speaks. "Why _did_ you bring me here tonight, Lyanna? Because you were afraid I would tell someone I saw you stealing armor?"

Lyanna gets to her feet, though she is only a girl and a small one at that, and Ashara is a woman grown, and tall besides - if Lyanna thinks to physically intimidate her, it won't work. She stands in front of her, gray eyes bright and angry, her dark hair escaping its braid. _So lovely_.

"I don't need to listen to this. You're just like the rest of them, you know. Not taking me seriously."

Ashara doesn't know how to tell her that she does think her serious - so serious that she's worried for her - before Lyanna turns away to gather up the rest of the armor.

"And I wouldn't have asked you to come here if it hadn't been you," she mutters, so quietly Ashara almost doesn't hear, and once again her heart starts beating too hard.

They are silent on their walk back, Lyanna clanking softly with each step and Ashara dragging the laughing tree shield. It is either too soon or far too long, Ashara believes, when they reach the Starks tent. Lyanna slips inside to put down her pile, then steps back out for the shield.

"Thank you," she whispers, glancing up at Ashara and looking more unsure than she's ever seen her. "For painting. And - for not telling." And to Ashara's immense surprise, Lyanna reaches up and kisses her on the cheek.

It is only a second, and so, so light, but Ashara can't help her eyes fluttering closed anyway. It is nothing more than a gesture of affection between girlfriends, and so innocently meant, and she wants more. So, so much more.

Lyanna pulls away and blushes, and suddenly Ashara wonders if perhaps she was wrong in her assesment. _I'm already in too deep,_ she thinks giddily, _might as well go for broke_ , and she leans down and presses her lips to Lyanna's.

The girl gasps, and Ashara pulls back, already beginning to curse herself. She chances a look at Lyanna's face and is shocked to see not disgust, but wonder written there.

"Why did you stop?" Lyanna asks. Her voice is innocent, though that lip-bite is anything but. "Am I that bad? I've never done it before, and-" Ashara cuts her off, kissing her harder, pressing one hand to Lyanna's small face and squeezing her free hand with the other.

_No. Not bad at all._

\-----

"You need to get it together, Lyanna," Benjen tells her after she falls from her horse for the third time. They are in the woods, far from any curious eyes, Lyanna practicing for tomorrow's tilt in her mismatched armor and carrying the laughing tree shield that Ashara painted…

Ashara. That's the reason Lyanna has been falling - _literally_ , she thinks - all day. She can't get the memory of that kiss out of her head. And she doesn't want to.

She had never even considered that ladies might do such things together, and yet Ashara is _such_ a lady, tall, and graceful, and always dressed in the most beautiful silk, purple to match her laughing eyes…

"Lyanna! Seriously! If you're not going to pay attention, I won't practice with you any longer!" Benjen is yelling from across the clearing where they have set up their makeshift list. "Still thinking about the _beautiful_ Prince Rhaegar?" he teases, but the sting is hardly felt. Rhaegar is the furthest thing from her mind right now.

They tilt another few rounds before Lyanna decides that she is as prepared as she'll ever be to challenge three knights tomorrow, and besides, she can't concentrate a moment longer.

She doesn't see Ashara at all that night, though not for lack of lurking awkwardly near the royal pavilions until Benjen finds her and begins to shout for Prince Rhaegar, causing a short, intense fistfight between the siblings that ends with Brandon finding them both and carrying them back to the Starks tent, one slung over each of his strong shoulders.

And then it is the second day, and her armor is hidden under her bed where she can easily run back and grab it. She sits with Benjen and Ned, watching carefully, clapping politely when required. Ned is mostly silent, but Benjen won't stop elbowing her. "When are you going to go? The day's almost done!"

"It's not time yet," she whispers back, regretting having told him of her plan. Finally as the shadows begin to grow they dash back to the tent, where Benjen quickly helps her buckle on the armor. He slips out first, whispering back at her "all clear". Still, she waits another moment to compose herself. Ready. She opens the door of the tent and slides out, only to walk right into someone. _Oh, no,_ she thinks, heart sinking, _the game is up,_ but then-

"Ashara!"

"I couldn't let you joust without first wishing you luck, could I?" The older girl grins at her, and Lyanna feels her heart race, all her composure from just a moment ago lost. Ashara pulls the helm off her in one swift movement and leans down to kiss her once, hard and sweet, before handing the helmet back.

Barely breathing, Lyanna looks up at her through her eyelashes. "Would it be too much to ask a favor of my lady?" she says, half-joking, and Ashara throws her head back and laughs.

"You've already got one," she says, and knocks once on the wooden shield. Then her eyes turn serious. "Promise me you'll be careful, Lyanna."

Lyanna only has time to nod before Ashara is gone, touching her armored shoulder lightly before disappearing around a corner. And not a moment too soon, because Benjen is back, poking his head around the side of the tent, wondering _what is taking you so long, let's go, we'll miss our chance_.

The jousts themselves are a blur. She remembers the gasp that went up from the crowd upon seeing a mystery knight enter the lists, seeing both king and prince stare at her with suspicious eyes, the tilts themselves - easy, too easy, even her brother Benjen could have beat the Blount - and the roar of the smallfolk when she won all three.

Now she waits off to the side for the ransoming, and it is this part she is most nervous about. It was all well and good to joust silently, in full armor, where she could easily be mistaken for a small man. But how is she to tell her terms to the knights? Panicking, she sends up a quick prayer to the old gods.

 _I did this for honor, in your name,_ she tells them. _Please help me now_.

And when the knights ask after her price, she is shocked to hear herself speak in a voice utterly unlike her own, deep and booming.

"Teach your squires honor," she tells them, "that shall be ransom enough." And properly shamed, the squires themselves are thoroughly chastised before picking up their knights' armor and scurrying away after their masters.

Her own mismatched armor she quickly deposits back in the tent she found it in, but the shield is a different matter. Finally she settles for leaving it in a tree - not a weirwood, but a good gnarled old tree all the same. _Thank you,_ she says to the gods before running back to her own tent.

It doesn't take long for Ned and Brandon to figure out where she has been - she disappeared just before the mystery knight showed up and did not return until after he was long gone, wearing only breeches and a tunic herself - and besides, Benjen's face is all the proof of guilt she needs. Howland is there too, though he is far less judgmental of her actions that afternoon.

"Thank you," he whispers, and she can tell he is overcome with emotion. On impulse she hugs him. "It was only the right thing to do."

Ned and Brandon are still looking on disapprovingly, however, and it seems they are both about to chastise her when the door to the tent opens and voice tentatively calls, "May I enter?"

Ashara. Lyanna had thought to look for her while out in the list, but her helm had not offered much in the way of mobility, and besides which she didn't that sort of distraction before participating in a dangerous activity.

She runs to the door, trying to not let her brothers see how much she is blushing, and throws it open. "Lady Ashara," she exclaims, attempting not to sound as though she is speaking to a girl who had her tongue in her mouth last night.

"I only came to see how you were," Ashara tells her. "May I enter?" Then she adds, more quietly, "Do they know?"

Lyanna nods, and allows her to step into the tent. "May I present to you the Lady Ashara," she says to her brothers, using her best courtesies to mask any lingering embarrassment. "This is Brandon, Ned, and Benjen. And Howland, of House Reed."

Ashara sweeps a pretty curtsy, and addresses the boys with her eyes cast down demurely. "The pleasure is all mine," she says.

Brandon is loud and swaggering, brashly flirtatious and just barely appropriate in a way Lyanna has seen him act around Barbrey Ryswell. Ned is even quieter than usual and so, to her surprise, is Howland, though Ned can't seem to look Ashara in the face where Howland can't seem to stop looking. Benjen is overawed and even more hyper and puppy-like than usual. Lyanna sighs, though she supposes Ashara can't help charming the rest of the Starks as easily as she charmed her.

But for all Ashara's polite smiles to the boys, Lyanna senses there is something wrong, and she can't help asking about it.

"It's the king," Ashara says finally, looking nervous. "He's…displeased with this afternoon." Lyanna startles, as do the boys.

"King Aerys?" she asks. She had dipped her lance in front of him before challenging the knights, but hadn't paid enough attention to notice anything wrong. "What could possibly be his problem about it?"

"He has a certain…distaste, you could say, for mystery knights. Take care, Lyanna. The king is a very dangerous man, and Rhaegar more clever than I'd like. Take care," she says one more time, and gives Lyanna a look she can't read before exiting the tent.

Lyanna does not attend the feast that night, and so does not hear her betrothed vow to unmask her (probably better, for she would not have been able to listen to his proclamation without laughing aloud, she thinks); nor does she hear the king himself urging men to challenge the Knight of the Laughing Tree. But the truth in Ashara's words is proved later the next day when she is cornered at the well by none other than the prince himself.

"Y-Your Grace," she stutters uncharacteristically, unable to meet his eyes.

He gives her a long, appraising look, enough to make her feel vaguely uncomfortable, before speaking. "My lady," he says, in his quiet, melodic voice. "You were missed at the lists this morning."

Her heart pounds so hard she is sure he can hear it, sure he can read her guilt on her face like one of the books he is rumored to be so fond of. But she only responds, "It was most considerate of you to notice my seat empty next to my brothers, and come inquiring after my health, Your Grace. You may rest assured I am just fine."

And to her surprise, he laughs - laughs like she hasn't just spoken to him too boldly, like he knows her secret and will not betray it to his father.

"You ride well, my lady," he tells her.

"My brothers have been known to exaggerate my skill."

He laughs again at this, and she feels unbalanced - this is the prince, after all. "I hope we will meet again soon, Lady Stark," he says, and sweeps her a dramatic bow. From somewhere in the folds of his light, swirling black cape he pulls a single bright blue winter rose. "My lady."

Then he is gone, sweeping away, and she is left holding the rose by the well more confused than ever.

\-----

Ashara had worried her warning to Lyanna wouldn't be enough to keep her safe from the notice of the royal family, and she isn't sure whether she is proved right or not later that evening when she sees Lyanna talking to her brother Benjen, wearing a light gray dress with long sleeves and looking as innocent as could be save for the blue rose tucked behind one ear.

The blue winter roses are native to the North, she knows, and it is not out of character per se for the only Stark girl to wear one. But she keeps touching it, and there are tiny spots of color high in her cheeks, almost imperceptible, and Ashara has a decidedly bad feeling about this.

And her intuition has not led her astray yet.

Ashara spends that night in Arthur's tent, as Elia has once more requested that her ladies find other sleeping arrangements while she waits for Rhaegar to (likely not) attend to her. Arthur will be wherever Rhaegar is, and so Ashara has asked if she could stay.

She is about to pull off her dressing gown and lay down for the night when she hears the flap of the tent open behind her.

"Arthur," she says, "I was just about to-"

"You know, I'm starting to get quite a complex about you referring to me as your brother."

Her breath hitches in her chest. "What are you doing here?"

She turns to see Lyanna standing in the doorway, still in her gray dress with that damned flower behind her ear, wearing a pout that only serves to remind Ashara how young she still is.

"I only came because - well, I wanted - oh, never mind," she says, and starts to turn back away. Ashara panics.

"No! I mean, you are very welcome here, my lady," Ashara tells her, and curses herself silently for turning to cold courtesies in the face of uncertainty. This is _Lyanna_ , after all, and Lyanna herself seems to feel much the same.

"And they say Northerners are icy," Lyanna says. "Have I done something to offend you?" This last part Ashara can tell is meant to be thrown back at her in the same tone she herself just used, but ends up coming out more plaintive and needy than she thinks Lyanna would have liked. And then she bites her lip, and it's all over for Ashara.

She's going to turn on the charm and get what she wants tonight, even if it kills her.

"Tell me why you came, my lady," she commands, but instead of cold pleasantries she lets her voice grow heavy with innuendo, hot as the kingdom from which she herself hails. As she speaks, she lets her dressing gown drop, leaving her standing in the dim candlelight in only her thin silk nightdress.

She's not disappointed by Lyanna's reaction, either. The girl's eyes grow wide, and she opens her mouth as if to speak only to close it again. _Good_ , Ashara thinks. She has not felt until now like she has had the upper hand in their - flirtation, if that's the word for it - and feels relieved that she is not the only one so deeply affected.

Ashara sits down on Arthur's cot and reclines against the pillows, letting her legs stretch out bare in front of her. "Come sit, Lyanna," she says, and Lyanna moves forward to perch tentatively on the edge of the bed near Ashara's feet.

"I'm- Ashara, I-" Lyanna stutters over the words and can't seem to meet her eyes, though Ashara notices her gaze lingering on her body, and this gives her hope enough to continue. She waits until Lyanna is comfortable enough to speak whatever it is on her mind.

Finally, Lyanna sighs. "Ashara, I've never done this before. Any of this. With anyone."

"I gathered that. Is it something you want to do?" she asks, and she has to be sure - yes, Lyanna came and found her in the middle of the night (and she'll have to ask later how she knew to come to Arthur's tent, of all places), and yes, she kissed her (twice now) - but what Ashara wants is so much more, and she can't go into this without knowing that Lyanna is on the same page as she.

Lyanna nods, but she still looks too nervous, too unsure, and Ashara raises an eyebrow.

"I want to," Lyanna says quietly, and with more emotion than Ashara has heard in her voice before. "I want _you_. Just - slow, at first, all right?"

Ashara's chest grows tight at Lyanna's words, equally done in by her jittery innocence and the way she said _I want you_.

"All right," she says, and rises up on her knees to crawl down the bed where Lyanna sits.

"I only," she tells her, kissing her softly, high on her cheekbone, "have one," she kisses Lyanna's brow, "request," she kisses her eyelid, delicately, for Lyanna's eyes have fluttered shut and she has adjusted her posture to better face Ashara on the bed, "for you, my lady," she says, and kisses gently down Lyanna's jaw.

"Anything," Lyanna replies, breathlessly, immediately.

"I need you to get rid of this damned rose," she says, and plucks it from behind Lyanna's ear and tosses it away.

She had worried, momentarily, that Lyanna would protest - but instead she doesn't say a word, only puts a hand on either side of Ashara's face and leans in to capture her lips.

The kiss is slower, hotter than the ones they've shared before. Ashara takes her time, one hand gripping the tail of Lyanna's braid, the other high on the outside of her thigh, and explores Lyanna's mouth carefully.

They stay like that until Ashara's candle burns low and she feels the deep, acute ache of wanting settle below her stomach, Lyanna's hands restless on her face, her shoulders, in her hair and once, agonizingly, squeezing her waist.

Finally Lyanna pulls back. "I should go," she says, and it is all Ashara can do not to grab her again, what with her gray eyes dark and hazy in the half-light and tiny wisps sticking out of her braid at every angle.

She takes a deep breath to steady herself. "Good night, my lady," she whispers, and Lyanna bites her lip before leaning in for one last kiss and slipping out the tent door.

Ashara doesn't think she'll be able to fall asleep that night, so consumed with thoughts of Lyanna, her mouth, so sweet and yet full of want and need.

The blue rose she had pulled from Lyanna's hair is the furthest thing from her mind until the next morning, when she sees the wreath of them resting in Rhaegar's lap as he rides forward to crown his Queen of Love and Beauty.

As he rides past Elia, she feels the familiar, sickening intuition.

She should have known nothing as good as last night could last.


	2. Chapter 2

PART II: KING'S LANDING/WINTERFELL

WARNING: THIS CHAPTER CONTAINS A RAPE SCENE

 

Being back in Winterfell, for Lyanna, is a constant battle of pretending that nothing has changed when it feels like everything has.

 

Brandon is home for a time, which is unusual in itself. He will leave soon to marry Catelyn Tully, whom Lyanna only met very briefly at Harrenhal. Normally, she would enjoy having him around, her brother who can fill a whole room with his laughter and ride nearly as fast as she, but as of late she has not felt herself.

 

Her brothers and lord father constantly ask what the matter is, why she is dreamy and disinterested and…different.

 

How could she explain? What would she say? That she was in love?

 

Benjen, to his credit, did guess this - her heart had stopped for a moment - before he continued, dancing around the great hall and clasping his chest in what he obviously felt was a hilarious impression of her. "Oh, _Rhaegar_!" he sang, ducking out of reach of her swinging fist. "Make me your _queeeeen_ of love and _beauuuuty_!"

 

She didn't speak to him for a week after that, though in retrospect that had only added fuel to his fire. She still had the crown of winter roses Rhaegar had bestowed upon her, dried in her chambers; still remembers the surreal feeling of seeing the prince ride up to her seat in the stands - having the audacity to _wink_ at her - and lay the crown on her lap; still remembers the panic that settled in her stomach when she met Princess Elia's eyes across the lists.

 

She still remembers, most of all, the feeling of Ashara's perfect lips, burning hot, slowly kissing down her neck in a darkening tent on the edge of a field, the last two girls left in the world.

 

\-----

 

Elia has been in a towering fury since they left Harrenhal, the likes of which Ashara has never seen. Since she's known her, Elia has always been calm, extremely level-headed even in the face of Rhaegar's most heinous indifferences, the king's rages, the constant chastisement of the maesters regarding her health and her pregnancy.

 

But her anger is something new, and something Ashara feels completely at a loss for dealing with.

 

The princess speaks to no one the entire ride home, as far as she can tell, besides brusque commands to servants when necessary. It is not until they have been back in the Red Keep for nearly a fortnight that Elia finally speaks to Ashara.

 

Ashara has brought Rhaenys in to play with her mother, though she worries about bringing the girl in while her mother is full of this awful, quiet rage.

 

They are sitting in Elia's chambers as the princess teases her daughter, tickling her under her chin. Ashara is stitching one of Elia's gowns when she catches a scrap of her words.

 

"You're my pretty girl, aren't you?" she says, kissing Rhaenys' fingers to make her giggle. "My special, special girl." Ashara is smiling, finally feeling like Elia's dark mood has past when she hears what the princess says next.

 

"Such a pretty little girl. You would never act like a whore to get a man's attention, would you?" Ashara's head snaps up. "No, you would not, would you, never be such a little wanton, man-stealing _bitch_ -" and now she can see that her fingers have tightened on Rhaenys, and the girl is crying, and in one quick movement Ashara is up and across the room to take the baby back to the nursery.

 

Elia is still in her chair when Ashara returns, knees drawn up and shoulders shaking. Ashara has never seen her look less like a princess, and her heart goes out to her friend.

 

"My lady-" she begins tentatively. Elia lifts her head, her face red and streaked with tears.

 

"Why doesn't he love me?" Elia wails, and for this along Ashara could positively castrate Rhaegar. "I have been the perfect princess, done everything right. What is so wrong with me that he can't love me?"

 

"No, sweetling, it isn't you-" Ashara starts, putting a hand out to lay on the princess' shoulder when Elia does something she's never done before and lashes out, slaps it away. Ashara is more startled than hurt, and yet-

 

"I know it isn't me!" Elia explodes. "It's that _Stark bitch!_ "

 

Ashara draws in a sharp breath. She has tried _so hard_ not to think of Lyanna in the past weeks, tried to avoid feeling the desperate ache that comes every time she remembers her beautiful face turned up to her own, so sweet-

 

"Well? Aren't you going to agree with me?" Elia says imperiously, and Ashara closes her eyes against the memories.

 

"Yes, my lady. She's the worst."

 

\-----

 

Winterfell is quiet this time of year, waiting under a layer of soft snow. It feels like the world is holding its breath, and when Lyanna spies the raven overhead, flying in from the south, she feels like she has been as well.

 

In an instant she is sprinting across the courtyard to the maester's turret and dashing up the stairs to find Maester Walys untying the scroll.

 

"What is it?" she asks breathlessly. "Is it from King's Landing?"

 

"Indeed it is," Maester Walys says, giving her a strange look. "Expecting something, are we?"

 

"No! I mean, no, it's just…" she trails off, unsure of what to say.

 

"It is a matter for Lord Rickard," he tells her. "Mayhaps you would like to join me in delivering it?"

 

She almost offers to deliver it herself, but Walys gives her such a sharp look that she is sure he knows exactly what he was thinking, and Lyanna wonders how much he knows of what happened at Harrenhal.

 

Lyanna traipses after Maester Walys up to her father's study, where they find Lord Rickard chastising Benjen.

 

"Do you understand now why it is not appropriate for you to steal bread from the kitchens?"

"Yes, father," Benjen says. His head is bowed low in what surely looks like a good show of penance, but Lyanna can see the tiny telltale smirk on his face that she knows means he has surely not learned his lesson.

 

"Very well, then." He turns to Maester Walys, who holds up the scroll. "News from King's Landing, my lord."

 

Lord Rickard looks mildly interested as he reaches for the scroll, but Benjen's eyebrows shoot up into his hairline and a grin spreads across his face.

 

"So that's why you're here, Lyanna! Expecting a letter from your _lover_?"

 

"Why, you little-" She lunges at him, partly out of an indignant rage and partly to hide just how red her face has grown. _Of course_ that is exactly what she hoped, though she knows they speak of two entirely different people.

 

"Children! You are Starks of Winterfell, not wolves! _I expect you to act as such!_ " Lyanna and Benjen wilt in the face of their father's anger.

 

"Sorry, my lord," they chorus, and he nods, his attention on the letter.

 

"Huh. It seems Lord Lannister has been replaced as Hand of the King."

 

\-----

 

The instatement of Owen Merryweather as Hand causes a ripple through the Red Keep. Ashara is closeted with Arthur in the White Sword Tower as he explains to her his suspicions regarding the king's decision.

 

"It's not good, Ashara, no matter how you look at it," he says, brushing his pale hair back from where it falls across his forehead. "Ser Jaime is a excellent sword, to be sure, but if his place on the Kingsguard means Lord Tywin is wroth with the king, or gods forbid gets some ideas about rebellion…"

 

"Is that what the king believes?"

 

Arthur sighs. "Who knows what the king believes anymore? He sees enemies in every corner. Sometimes I think Rhaegar is right, that maybe it is time for some changes around here."

Her eyes open wide. "I knew it! I knew you were plotting something! But Arthur, please, you have to be careful, that is dangerous thinking…"

 

He laughs, and ruffles her hair as though she is a little girl instead of a woman two years his junior. His purple eyes are bright, so like her own though the siblings otherwise do not much resemble one another. "Don't worry about me, Ashara. We'll speak again about this soon though, all right?"

 

They don't have a chance, though, and before another moon has come and gone there is another event that captures the attention of the Red Keep - at least that of Rhaegar and, by proxy, Elia.

 

It is there when they wake up one morning, a bright red slash high in the sky, and suddenly the talk is of _dragons_.

 

Rhaegar is breathless and animated when Ashara seems him that day. He kisses Elia in front of all her ladies for the first time since she can remember, and picks Rhaenys up to whirl her around as she laughs.

 

It comes as no surprise, then, that the prince finally comes that night to Elia's chambers.

 

And in the morning, he is gone.

 

\-----

 

Lyanna has been the lady of Winterfell for years now, ever since her mother passed not long after Benjen's birth and she was just a little girl. The title has mainly been ceremonial; chief among her duties has always been a pretty curtsy to great the Northern lords every year at the harvest feast.

 

This year, however, she is expected to speak. As a woman grown, she is now expected to welcome the lords attendant as well as bless Brandon, who will leave for Riverrun as soon as the feast is over.

 

She is nervous, but glad for the distraction it provides from thinking ( _obsessing_ , some small critical part of her thinks) about Ashara.

 

The Glovers are the first to arrive, with Ethan proudly in the lead carrying his house's bright scarlet banner, and Brandon comes out to stand with her and greet them.

 

"Young Ethan!" he calls. "Are you ready for an adventure?"

 

Ethan is less boisterous than Brandon, but jumps down from his horse all the same and they greet with clasped arms and congratulations. Lyanna is left to welcome Lord Galbart, who compliments her manners before moving on to stable his horse.

 

The guests trickle in for the rest of the afternoon - Lord Galbart's frail cousin Roslin with her husband, Lord Mormont; Wyman Manderly, so fat she can hardly believe he is able to sit a horse; Rickard Karstark, who embraces her fondly before bounding off to find her father and leaving her with three sons who spend a little too long gaping at her in her new gown and his very pregnant, irritated wife; a whole cloud of Flints late in the day, from Widow's Watch and Flint's Finger and even the mountains.

 

Just before the feast is to begin the escort from Riverrun arrives. There is Jeffory Mallister, the son of the Lord of Seagard, as well as two young men from the Vale, Kyle Royce and Elbert Arryn, who is Jon Arryn's heir. They greet her with impeccable manners and she wonders if they will not be a bit overawed by a true Northern gathering, which is always rowdy and often lacking in proper courtesies by the time the first course is served.

 

Lyanna is seated at the high table between Benjen and her father. The feast is loud and spirits are high, with abundant wine and ale and course after course of meats offered by each house.

 

"Look!" Benjen elbows her after the brace of ducks brought by the Cerwyns is cleared away. "A singer!"

 

She follows where he points down the hall to see a man, standing upright with one knee up on the Hornwood men's bench, plucking a harp and singing, though she cannot hear the words. His attire is simple and his hair a dark, almost unnatural black; but what catches her attention is the blue rose, tucked behind his ear. For a moment he looks up and their eyes meet; the lighting is dim and he is far away, but she thinks he winks at her, and for some reason she finds herself blushing.

 

Benjen is looking at her strangely and she just _knows_ he is about to make some jape when, blessedly, Lord Rickard turns to her to give the blessing.

 

She thanks the guests for attending and goes on to bless her brother, as is appropriate for the lady of the house to do on the eve of the marriage of the heir apparent. Lyanna is nervous, and she worries that it comes through in her speech. But she finishes to thunderous applause (except from Barbrey Ryswell, who has been staring daggers since she got up), and sits down feeling relieved.

 

"That was good, sister," Brandon says fondly, and leans over to kiss the top of her head. "I'm going to miss you, you know."

 

She reaches over and wraps her arms around him tightly, feeling a sob rise up in her throat.

 

"I'm only going to Riverrun for a short time, Lya," he laughs when he feels her tears drop on his shoulder. "We'll see each other soon, I promise."

 

And then he is gone, him and Ethan Glover and the rest exiting the hall to cheers and well-wishes.

 

The dancing begins then, and she is excited to join in as she was not allowed at Harrenhal. She is first claimed by Rickard Karstark, then two Flints in rapid succession, and even takes a turn with her lord father (who is usually not one for dancing) before being spun into the arms of the singer from before.

 

Lyanna stumbles into his arms, feeling clumsy. "Forgive me, my lord," she says, eyes cast down.

 

"No need to apologize," the man says, and his voice is familiar. She looks up into his face and gasps.

 

" _Prince Rhaegar?_ " She stumbles again and he tightens his grip on her waist, just a shade more than is truly proper.

 

"Shhh, my girl. I'm only a bard, see? Daortys, I am called," and she can't remember what the word means in Valyrian.

 

"I'm not your _girl_ ," she tells him. "What are you doing here, anyway?"

 

"Why, I am here to play for the lord," he says, as though it is the most natural thing in the world. "And when the night is over, I wish to claim the most beautiful flower growing in Winterfell's gardens."

 

A shiver runs down Lyanna's spine as she recognizes the tale of Bael the Bard. Rhaegar seems to interpret this as a sign of her passion and pulls her closer, though she's not at all sure that is what she's feeling. All at once she remembers what "Daortys" means. _Deceiver._

 

"Did you come by yourself?" she asks, trying to give herself some time to think on a course of action.

 

"No. Ser Oswell accompanied me," he says, gesturing carelessly over his shoulder to a corner where a disgruntled looking man plays a pipe for a group of extremely drunk Manderly men. The dance begins to wind down and Lyanna starts to pull away, but Rhaegar grabs at her waist. "I will come find you later, my lady," he tells her, his voice low and rough.

 

When she opens the door to her chambers later that night, she only has time to glimpse the blue rose that had been behind Rhaegar's ear lying on her pillow before he scoops her up and carries her, wildling-style, to the courtyard where Ser Oswell waits with two horses saddled.

 

Lyanna is unsurprised when, that night, the prince joins her under her blankets.

 

He is gentle enough with her, she supposes; but he is not what she wants. The hands that roam across her chest are too large, the weight of him above her too heavy, the taste of his lips when he kisses her somehow _wrong_.

 

"You have done this before, my lady?" he asks, panting as he breaks away from her mouth.

 

 _How to answer that?_ She is trying desperately not to think of Ashara, to tell herself that this is what she should want - a man, and a prince of the blood no less, instead of a _girl_.

 

And then he is at her entrance. It hurts less than she thought it would, though Rhaegar is not exactly gentle. The most she can say for the whole experience is that it is over quickly.

 

As she lays there, feeling his seed drip down her thighs and a tear drip down her cheek, the prince already asleep beside her, she wonders where they are going.

 

Rhaegar does not claim her again, but spends much of the remainder of the journey south riding ahead and then doubling back, or spending his days reading in the saddle as they ride slowly, or playing that damn harp.

 

When finally they ride into the city through a huge gate laid with ornate red bricks in the pattern of a dragon breathing flames, she feels a tiny spark deep inside her. _King's Landing_. Surely there will be someone here who can help her, although she does not know who would dare speak against the rights of a prince.

 

At the very least, she thinks as her heart speeds up a little, Ashara lives here.

 

\-----

 

Prince Rhaegar and Ser Oswell's reappearance in the Red Keep is a much smaller event than Ashara had expected it would be, and it is not until she speaks with Arthur that afternoon that she learns why.

 

"He didn't know, Ashara," Arthur tells her in a low voice. They are outside Elia's chambers as the pregnant princess readies herself expectantly for her husband's arrival. "Prince Rhaegar's little…adventure, if you will, was entirely kept from the king. Nearly five moons. It was an incredible deceit."

 

"How is that even possible? Didn't he ask to see him in all that time?"

 

Arthur shakes his head. "You must have noticed how withdrawn he has been," he says. "Owen Merryweather and Jon Connington have essentially been running the realm."

 

"But why not just say he was at Summerhall? Where did he go, anyway?" Perhaps he _was_ at Summerhall; he went there often enough, though not usually for such a long stretch of time.

 

Arthur opens his mouth to tell her just as Elia pokes her head out into the hall and sees them. "Ashara. I'd like you to heat some water for a bath."

 

That night Ashara is lying abed, close to sleep, when she hears the soft knock at her door. She crosses her small chamber quickly and pulls the door open.

 

Standing there, biting her lip and looking like every fantasy Ashara's had for the last half a year, is Lyanna Stark.

 

For a long moment, Ashara can only stare, drinking in Lyanna's tattered gray dress, her wide eyes framed by dark circles, her face thinner and paler than Ashara remembers and so, so much more beautiful.

 

"May I come in?" Lyanna whispers, and Ashara takes her face in her hands and kisses her.

 

They back into Ashara's room and she only just manages to break away long enough to close and lock the door behind them. Her head is screaming to stop, just for one moment, _what is she doing here_ , but Lyanna's hands are clutching at her gown, and her tongue is in her mouth, and _gods_ -

 

Finally Lyanna pulls back, breathing heavily, and Ashara can see tears in her eyes. "My sweet, beautiful girl," Ashara whispers against Lyanna's forehead, resting her hands on her shoulders.

 

And Lyanna begins to sob.

 

She holds her a long time, two girls in a dark room, barefoot on the hard stone floor. Lyanna has her head tucked under Ashara's chin, and Ashara keeps her arms wrapped around Lyanna's shoulders, not speaking, pressing kisses to the crown of her head and letting her cry.

 

Finally, Lyanna pulls back. She is biting her lip again, and Ashara is trying to put together the pieces of her appearance in the Red Keep.

 

"Was Rhaegar in Winterfell?" she asks, and Lyanna nods. Ashara is dying to ask if Lyanna went with him willingly, but she sees how the girl will not meet her eyes, and decides it doesn't matter. Lyanna is a _girl_ , hardly past her fifteenth nameday, and Rhaegar is a man grown, and a prince besides. No matter what, Lyanna would not have been able to consent, and though he has scorned Elia a hundred times during the course of their marriage, Ashara can never remember feeling angrier at Rhaegar than she does at this moment.

 

Ashara starts to ask another question, anything really to get her mind off the fury she feels burning inside her and how broken and breathtakingly beautiful Lyanna looks standing in front of her. But Lyanna cuts her off.

 

"I don't feel much like talking right now," she tells her, and looks up at Ashara through her eyelashes with a gaze that positively smolders.

 

That's all it takes. Ashara is on her, kissing her hard, tracing Lyanna's hipbones through her thin dress and backing her on to her bed. She settles Lyanna against her pillows and hovers above her, Lyanna's arms twined around her neck, kissing her lips and her jaw and her chin and her lips again, trying to keep her pace achingly slow.

 

Ashara sits back to look at her, drink her in. Lyanna's eyes are wide, her breathing heavy, and Ashara feels like she's on fire. She looks down at her, reverently, unsure where to begin - _if_ she should begin - when Lyanna breaks the silence

 

"You don't have to be so careful with me," Lyanna whispers. "I'm not a maid anymore." She tries to look defiant when she says it, raising her chin, but she can't meet her eyes either, and Ashara's heart breaks for her.

 

She closes her eyes - if she thought she was angry with Rhaegar before, it is nothing compared to how she feels now - and Lyanna speaks again.

 

"It's all right if you don't want me anymore, now that I'm spoiled," she says, but her broken voice betrays the nonchalant words.

 

"I could never not want you," Ashara tells her honestly. "And you are far from spoiled. I can't tell you how sorry - how _furious_ \- I am. But his actions do not define you, Lyanna. Only you can do that."

 

She knows there are no words she can offer to make this better, but Lyanna doesn't seem interested in words anyway. "Show me that you still want me," she whispers, and Ashara is helpless.

 

Her nightdress is thin enough to nearly see through but she removes it anyway, hoping to make Lyanna feel more comfortable. She kneels by her feet in only her smallclothes. Lyanna fidgets for a moment, and Ashara leans forward to still her with a kiss.

 

"When you're ready," she tells her.

 

Ashara lets Lyanna lead, fighting every impulse she has to leave her arms by her sides, eyes closed against the weight of emotion. Finally Lyanna moves her head away. "Now," she says.

 

Her fingers are shaking with desire and nerves as she helps Lyanna unlace her dress. Though this is not the first time Ashara has done this, she thinks it is the first time it has mattered.

 

Lyanna is laid out on her bed in only her smallclothes, and Ashara cannot hold back a groan. Her body is losing the boniness of childhood, though not quite a woman's, and her lovely dark hair is spread across her pillows. _She looks like a goddess_.

 

She tries her hardest not to look at her stomach to see if it is rounding.

 

Ashara takes her time, letting her lips linger on Lyanna's neck, her collarbone, the tiny dip in the center of her ribcage. She worships her like she is sure Rhaegar never did. She asks permission before removing Lyanna's smallclothes, and returns to her lips for just a moment to thank her when she acquiesces.

 

The gasp Lyanna lets out when she finally puts her mouth on her is enough to make Ashara pause. "Why did you stop?" Lyanna asks when she looks up at her from between her legs. "That's - _oh_ -"

 

She can't remember ever feeling more blissful than when Lyanna calls her name as she peaks.

 

And when she wakes in the morning, unsurprised to find Lyanna long gone, she thinks she finally knows how Elia must feel.

 

\-----

 

Lyanna doesn't even make it back to the tiny room Rhaegar left her in before he corners her in an alcove.

 

"Oh good, you're ready to go," he says without even questioning what she might have been doing wandering the Red Keep before the sun is up. "Your fool brother is almost here, and we will not be around when he arrives."

 

"Brandon is coming here?" She knows it must be him - Benjen is too young, and though she knows Ned loves her, he would never do something so rash.

 

Rhaegar waves a hand dismissively. "The dragon does not bother to learn the names of wolves," he says, and she wants to tell him that _she is a wolf too_. But instead she follows him down the hall and into a courtyard, where Ser Oswell and another Kingsguard - Ser Jonothor, she thinks - waiting with four horses saddled, and feeling less like a wolf than she has in her entire life.

 

They ride out a different gate than the one they entered by, and Lyanna gets her first glimpse of the Blackwater. The wharves are already crowded with fishmongers and children begging, even at this hour, though the crowds part quickly for the prince.

 

She looks back for one last glimpse of King's Landing, now growing small in the distance. She wonders if Ashara has already woken, and if she will be angry at her for leaving. She does not let herself remember last night, how patient Ashara had been, so sweet and careful with her, like she was something special.

 

"Keep up," Rhaegar calls briskly over his shoulder, and she lets her thoughts dissolve into nothing. It does her no good to dwell on what cannot be.

 

The sun stays to their east as they ride, and Lyanna wonders if they are going to Summerhall until they reach a fork in the Kingsroad. Another of the Kingsguard is there - the Lord Commander, Ser Gerold Hightower. There is a hushed conversation in which she catches the words "prince" and "Tower of Joy" and then Rhaegar and Darry are riding back north without so much as a farewell.

 

Ser Gerold looks at her kindly before gesturing for her to take the right fork - the Roseroad, she thinks.

 

"Let us ride, my lady," he tells her. "It is a long way to Dorne."

 

 


	3. Chapter 3

[THIS CHAPTER CONTAINS BLOOD]

PART III: DORNE

Four moons pass at the Tower of Joy with little incident. Lyanna passes her days drawing, or walking by the hills, so barren and different from the North, or pestering Mya who works in the kitchen to make lemon cakes again. Aside from Mya, her only companions are Lord Commander Gerold and Ser Oswell, and the maester who shows up every few weeks.

And, of course, the baby that grows in her stomach. She thinks that he will be a boy. She prays he will be nothing like his father.

The Kingsguard are kind enough and the Tower not uncomfortable, but still she feels like a prisoner. And unlike in the stories Old Nan used to tell, no prince is going to come rescue her.

In fact, it is his fault she is trapped in the first place.

Lyanna is late in bed one morning, one hand on her swollen belly (the baby hardly ever kicks, he is already _so good_ ) when she hears a commotion downstairs, Hightower's already-loud voice booming out. "Arthur! Good man! What brings you to this godsforsaken country?"

 _Arthur_. Ashara's brother. Lyanna has long tried to not remember Ashara, how sweetly she treated her and how she made her feel so good. She would not think to see her now, her body stretched and distorted as a mark of her shame. She does not deserve someone so special.

As she lays her head back down on the pillow, trying to get comfortable again, someone knocks on the door.

"Come in," she calls. It is probably Mya, who is always trying to get her out of bed. She has been so _tired_ of late though, so exhausted deep in her bones. It is an unwelcome change from the energetic girl she once was.

The door opens slowly, a dark head poking out from around the wood. "Lyanna?"

 _Ashara_.

Lyanna's heart starts pounding into overdrive. _What is she doing here?_ "I- no, don't…"

But Ashara is already entering the room. Lyanna cannot meet her eyes. "Hi," she says lamely.

Ashara says nothing, only comes over to the bed where Lyanna is sitting up and crawls in beside her. She puts one arm around her and pulls Lyanna's head down to her shoulder, then brings her other arm up to stroke Lyanna's hair, so tenderly she thinks she might cry.

They sit like that for a long time. Ashara says nothing, but Lyanna can feel her tears soaking into the top of her head.

When the sun starts to peek in through the top of the western window, Lyanna sits up, curling her legs under her. "Hi," she says again.

Ashara looks down at her and smiles. "How are you feeling, my lady?"

" _Bored_. I can't do anything! They don't let me ride, or shoot, or spar with them in the mornings…" She stops, unsure. "I don't mean to complain. What are you doing here?"

Ashara's face becomes grave and she bites her lip hesitantly, as though she is judging how much to tell her. "Arthur was sent here, and I'm returning to Starfall. There have been some…incidents in King's Landing, and he felt it was unsafe."

"Incidents? What do you mean?" Lyanna is immediately suspicious. _She's not telling me something_. "Did something happen to the princess?"

"Elia gave birth to a boy the night we left the city."

So her son will have a brother near his own age, as well as an older sister. She wonders if it is wrong to hope they will never meet. "And what else?"

Ashara looks at her appraisingly, then shakes her head. "Nothing you need to worry about now. Come, let's go eat something."

They spend the rest of the day walking outside, Ashara's arm around her waist, talking of unimportant things. At sundown, the Kingsguard draw their blades and train as they always do, glad to have another brother. The girls stop to watch, cheering them on as though they are at a great melee. Ashara lends her favor to her brother, and Lyanna shouts gleefully for the two Kingsguard she has lived with for months.

Arthur fights incredibly, with more grace and talent than anyone Lyanna has ever seen, and she wonders not for the first time why three of the greatest warriors in the Seven Kingdoms are guarding her lonely outpost. She thinks it cannot be only to prevent her escape.

And because they are Kingsguard, none of the three says a word when Ashara follows Lyanna to her room for the night.

\-----

Ashara's head is screaming by the time she enters Lyanna's chamber.

It began three weeks ago, when Elia's water broke and Arthur rushed in to tell her to pack her things. The princess had been furious - Ashara still cringes to remember - cursing her for being unfaithful in between cursing Rhaegar for his absence and the maester for being incompetent and the baby for _not coming quickly enough_. Ashara kissed her forehead as she lay there, the infant prince Aegon in her arms. Elia had turned away.

As she and Arthur rode out of the city, he told her that Rhaegar was dead on the Trident and an army was advancing on King's Landing, and that he had been summoned to the Tower of Joy. She had thought to feel some measure of contempt for Lyanna on Elia's behalf, for three Kingsguard would now attend to the girl while only Jaime Lannister was left behind for the princess as well as the king and queen, but all she felt was sad. There was only one reason she could think of for such tight security on the girl.

Though she had expected it, seeing Lyanna with her stomach swollen laying in bed still came as a shock. Ashara had debated with herself the entire ride about how much to tell her - the kingdoms at war, a continent torn apart on this girl's behalf - but she sees her lying there, looking more fragile than she would have thought possible from Lyanna, and she cannot do it.

She does not think Lyanna would much mind to know that Rhaegar is dead, but she will not tell her that her father and brother are as well.

As they watch the Kingsguard spar with one another, Dawn flashing in the late afternoon light, Ashara's heavy sense of foreboding creeps up. Arthur explained to her that Lyanna's next older brother - her only one, now - was on his way into King's Landing to look for her, and she knows that he is on his way south now.

There has been no word out of the capital since they set out, which is strange in and of itself, and Ashara cannot shake a feeling of dread from that. The war has come to a head, and she does not think any of them will escape unharmed.

But when Lyanna leads her up the stairs to the top of the tower, she is powerless to do anything but acquiesce.

"Has the baby been very active?" Ashara asks. Rhaenys and Aegon both had been, kicking and turning at all hours of the night and further exhausting an already weakened Elia. But Lyanna shakes her head.

"No," she says. "He's very quiet." _He_. So she believes it to be a boy. Briefly, Ashara wonders what this will mean for the royal succession, if he will come after Prince Aegon but before Rhaenys. Then she wonders if he will be in line at all, since Rhaegar and Lyanna were not married. With Rhaegar dead, are his children now next in line for the throne? Or would it pass first to young Prince Viserys? Ashara does not know him well, for the queen kept him by her side and stayed away from court whenever possible. But this is a problem for someone else to worry about another day.

"Does he have a name yet?"

Lyanna wrinkles her nose. "I don’t know what to call him. Although I'm sure his _father_ has some idea- _why do you keep looking at me like that_?" Quickly, Ashara tries to make her face blank. Yes, she's sure Rhaegar would have had some idea for naming this child. But he will have no say now.

"Never mind." Lyanna huffs out a breath in frustration. "You can feel him, if you'd like." She looks up through lowered eyelashes, and Ashara would think she was being coy if she didn't see the hesitation in her eyes. She can tell Lyanna is uncomfortable being seen like this, body distorted and spirit weakened.

Ashara will do everything in her power to make her feel worthy again.

She moves to where Lyanna reclines, sitting back against the headboard. Lyanna reaches out and takes her hand, placing it high on the swell of her belly. "See? You can't feel anything. The maester said it's alright though, he thinks the baby is still healthy."

 _Where are they getting a maester from?_ Ashara wonders. Perhaps House Caron had one who came to check up on her. She is surprised that Rhaegar thought of it at all.

"I hope I can love him," Lyanna whispers, and Ashara's attention snaps back to the girl's face. Her eyes are closed and her forehead wrinkled, as though it hurts her to admit it. "I mean, I hope he's nothing like his father."

Ashara can feel her heart breaking in her chest. She leans forward to kiss Lyanna's eyelids where tears are leaking out down her cheeks, then gently brings her lips across Lyanna's face to whisper in her ear.

"He'll be nothing like his father," Ashara tells her. "He will be good, and brave, and loyal, I know it - more Stark than anything - and I know you will be a great mother." The dark, foreboding feel of intuition sweeps over her as she says the last part, but she ignores it. _No. Lyanna will be fine._

Ashara moves to position herself facing Lyanna, straddling her outstretched legs. "Good and brave, just like his mother," she says softly, letting their fingers tangle and pulling Lyanna's hands up over her head. She lets her lips trail down Lyanna's jaw, kisses her throat, her collarbone, the dip in the center of her chest. She pulls up Lyanna's shift to press her mouth to her swollen stomach. "So beautiful," she whispers.

Finally Lyanna's eyes open and she looks down at Ashara. _She looks so tired,_ Ashara thinks.

"Come back up here," Lyanna tells her. "I just want you to hold me tonight."

Ashara will give her whatever she wants. She stretches one arm across Lyanna's chest and drapes a leg across hers and kisses the shell of her ear.

"Good night, my lady."

\-----

Ashara's _good night_ had sounded like _I love you_ and _I'm sorry_ all at once, and Lyanna is unsurprised when she wakes alone the next morning.

She is surprised, however, to feel the bed damp beneath her. Surely she hadn't wet herself in the night? Then she remembers what Maester Ceryl said, that she might see water and that would mean the baby was coming.

 _No,_ she thinks. _It's far too early._ She sits up and feels a sharp pain in her stomach, then looks down at the sheets. Not water. Blood.

She starts screaming.

Ser Arthur is at her side in a second. He pales visibly as he takes her in, and she feels her body tighten painfully. "Help me," she cries.

Arthur dashes back down the stairs, but something is wrong, she can hear shouting from outside. Lyanna would go to the window to look but she cannot move, her body betraying her painfully like it has never done before. _It's too early,_ but the baby is coming now.

It feels like she is breaking in half and her body is telling her to push, _push,_ and she can hardly remember any of the maester's careful instructions for what she should do if this happened while he was away. There is blood everywhere, on the sheets, her nightdress, painting her thighs red. She can hear swords clashing and men screaming outside, and inside she is screaming and bleeding too.

When Ser Arthur returns she is laying on her back, barely able to open her eyes. Her son - her tiny, perfect son, covered in blood with a shock of dark black hair - is resting on her chest.

"Arthur," she whispers. He is dressed in white and stained with blood, same as her. "Is there…what is it?"

He looks at her and smiles sadly. It is the same smile Ashara gave her when she asked if there had been any problems in King's Landing, the one that she knows means someone is keeping something from her. "It is nothing, my lady," he says. "We-" He stops, a shadow passing over his face. "I will keep you safe."

There is a ring of blue roses in his hands, and he hangs it on the post of her bed. _Where did he get those?_

She closes her eyes again. Her baby is sleeping, _so good, he hadn't even cried…_

Lyanna wakes when she feels the weight of her son lifted from her chest. "No, my son-" she opens her eyes, _"Ned?"_

Her brother stands over her, blood spattered across his Stark-grey doublet. The sword he is holding is red as well, and it is not his own. _Dawn,_ she thinks.

"Lyanna," he breathes, and drops to his knees.

She is so _tired,_ but she has to tell him. "Ned," she says. "My son. Don't - you have to take him away," Lyanna tells him, and he nods, but she doesn't think he understands and he _has to understand,_ "No, keep him safe. Away from his father. Promise me, Ned."

He hands the sword to someone standing behind him - when did another person enter the room? - and reaches out, gingerly taking the baby. "Don't tell him, Ned. Keep him safe. Promise me," she says, and closes her eyes.

She hopes he will listen. Her son must not know about his father. _Keep him safe…_

\-----

Ashara rides hard for Starfall, feeling the entire time as though she going in the wrong direction.

She had been awakened by Arthur at the hour of the wolf, when he had shaken her gently and whispered that she needed to get out, _immediately_ \- Ned Stark would arrive by sunrise, and he had men at his back. It felt _wrong_ to leave without Lyanna, but she hoped the girl would be safe - the Kingsguard were the greatest warriors in the seven kingdoms, after all, and none more so than her brother. And aside from that, she has met Ned Stark, and he had seemed quiet and gentle enough; she cannot imagine him hurting his own sister, or indeed even starting a fight.

After three long days, Starfall finally rises before her, the sun gleaming off the Palestone Tower and the sharp scent of sea filling her nose. She takes a deep breath in. Though it has been nearly three years since she has been back, it still feels like home.

Hoofbeats sound from the shadow of the castle as a man gallops out to meet her, yelling "Ashara!" She grins. "Brother!" she calls back.

Drin cuts an impressive figure as he hops off his horse and runs to greet her. _He has let his beard grow in,_ she notices, the color a pale orange stubbling across his cheeks. Their father always teased their mother about how he ended up with three children who had three different colors of hair.

He helps her down, then wraps her up with his good arm and hugs her tightly before stepping back to bow. "Look at you, Lady Ashara," he teases. "King's Landing has made you a right proper woman, has it not?"

"Indeed, it has not," she tells him, laughing. "I think you will find, Lord Adrinian, I am just as insufferable as ever."

He laughs too before growing serious. "Come, Ashara," he says gently. "Perhaps Mother will see you. And there is someone else you should meet."

Mother will not see her, as it turns out, shut away at the top of the Palestone Tower still in mourning three years later for Ashara's father.

Allyria, however, almost makes up for it.

She has never met her little sister, only heard bits and pieces in Drin's letters, but Ashara is instantly enchanted by her. The tiny girl greets her in the Bright Hall, dropping a little curtsy, already a lady just as Ashara herself was at that age before running to hide behind her septa. She is beautiful already, with golden brown hair ( _four colors for four siblings,_ Ashara thinks with a smile) and the purple eyes they all share.

Drin's new wife Siara Wells is there also, shy and pretty and clearly smitten with her husband, which Ashara likes her for straight away. She had worried that the curled-up arm he was born with that prevented him from becoming Sword of the Morning would also cost him a good marriage, or at least a wife that did not marry him for his claim to Starfall. But they are so obviously in love it hurts to look at them, and Ashara thinks the castle will soon have an heir.

Ashara stays up that night, playing with Allyria and talking to Drin until it grows late. Before she falls asleep she spares a thought for Arthur, wishing the four siblings could be together for once, and for Lyanna, whom she still sharply regrets leaving.

In the morning, two riders are spotted on the horizon, and she feels a dark sense of foreboding steal over her. She should have known yesterday's peace could not last.

She greets Eddard Stark at the door. He is unable to meet her eyes as he kneels down and offers up a sword.

_Dawn._

A hand goes to her mouth - _no, not him, not her bright, beautiful brother_ \- and she has to turn away. Drin speaks first, his voice shaky. "Th-thank you for returning this to us, Lord…"

"Stark," Ned says. "And I must ask a favor of you, though I wish I did not have to."

It is then that Ashara sees who Ned's companion is. Howland Reed, the crannogman whose honor Lyanna had defended at Harrenhal. And he is holding the tiniest baby boy Ashara has ever seen.

She gasps. "Lyanna."

Ned looks at her strangely. "How do you know that, Lady Ashara?" he says questioningly.

"Where is she, Lord Eddard?" Ashara asks, though she thinks she already knows. _"Where is she, Ned?"_

But the grief written plainly across his face tells her all she needs to hear, and Ashara closes her eyes.

 _She's gone._ Her fierceness, her bravery, her innocence - all gone, casualties of her own war.

Somewhere, far off in the distance, she can hear Ned making arrangements for Wylla from the kitchens to nurse the baby - _Jon_ , he says it is called, after his foster-father, and she thinks that is all wrong, Lyanna would never name her baby after him - that they will stay at Starfall until Jon is strong enough to travel north.

Ned is blind to her grief, and Drin is in shock over Arthur ( _no, not him too_ ) as he plays the gracious lord welcoming visitors to his castle, but Howland Reed gives her a sympathetic look as he takes her hand in greeting, and when he says _I'm so sorry_ she thinks he somehow understands it is not just Arthur she is mourning.

And death, it seems, is not finished with her loved ones.

Her mother does not react when they tell her of Arthur's death, and Ashara wonders if she understands at all what she is being told. Her question is answered at dawn the next morning, when a hysterical serving girl tells them the Lady of Starfall has jumped from the Palestone Tower.

Just when Ashara feels as though her heart cannot handle anymore, a raven arrives from King's Landing. _Dark wings, dark words._

The city has been sacked, and Robert Baratheon sits the Iron Throne. Aerys is slain, and the queen and Viserys have fled to Dragonstone.

Elia and her children are dead.

She is _angry_ , angry with Ned for not telling them when he arrived the mess he had left the capital in, angry on Elia's behalf (as always) that she was raped and then killed like she didn't matter when she mattered more than almost anyone in the world.

The missive goes on to ask a representative of House Dayne to swear fealty to the new king, which Ashara swears will never happen. A second raven arrives from Princess Ariella within the hour, promising that Dorne will not stand for this, that there will be vengeance for Elia and Rhaenys and Aegon, _fire and blood._

Ashara remains furious for weeks - it is easier than crushing grief - hardly speaking to anyone save Allyria and her maids.

And, oddly enough, Howland Reed.

He comes upon her one day as she is sitting on the rocks below the castle, just above where the waves break.

"My lady," he says, then surprises her by sitting down beside her. "Have I ever told you of Greywater Watch?"

She looks at him sideways, eyes narrowed; they both know very well they have never had any sort of long conversation. "I don't believe I've heard much of it, my lord," she says warily.

"Well, the first thing you must know is that it moves…" he begins.

For the rest of the afternoon Ashara is transported to the Neck, where ladies hunt with bows and men sew their breeches out of frogskin and whole homes can disappear in an hour when enemies are afoot.

For one whole afternoon, Ashara forgets to be angry, the fire within her cooled by tales of mud. She forgets her broken heart.

Howland begins to speak with her every day, spending long hours describing his home (beautiful, the way he tells it, like a green maze crowned with sunlight in the summer), telling of his travels (he left home as soon as he came of age, carrying only his boat and his spear), sharing wisdom from the greenseers (she hadn't even known they still existed).

He spends a whole day speaking of Lyanna - she was the reason he first joined Ned, going to fight for her honor, and she can tell he held a deep admiration for her. When he brings up Harrenhal, she interrupts him for the first time.

"And when she came out with that shield, I-"

"I painted it, you know." He looks startled, at first; she so rarely speaks when he talks to her, but his face quickly changes from surprise to curiosity.

"The laughing tree shield? You did that?" She nods, and the look he gives her is so awe-filled she has to turn away. "My lady!" he exclaims, and she cannot hold back a smile.

"Lyanna asked me to paint a device for her, and she told me it was for your honor and the old gods," she says. "It just seemed right."

She is grateful when he does not ask how Lyanna came to ask her of all people to paint the shield, does not ask what right she had for tears to fill her eyes when speaking of Lyanna. He only takes her hand - the first time he has touched her - and squeezes gently.

"We truly lost someone great, didn't we," he says quietly, and she lays her head on his shoulder.

"We did," she whispers.

Howland is incredibly careful with her after that, something else for which she appreciates him. Drin is busy running the household, making preparations for Arthur, being consoled by his wife; often he asks her to look after Allyria while he takes care of something. Ned Stark is sullen and preoccupied with Jon, who grows stronger every day; it seems he has recently married one of the Tully girls and is worried about bringing a baby home. Ashara understands that it is a secret only Starfall and Howland know that Jon is not his bastard, though she is unsure how many people will believe that honorable Eddard Stark would dishonor his new wife thusly.

It is Howland who is by her side with an offer to help or a shy smile or kind word when she needs it most, and it is Howland who lets her begin to feel like she can hope again, like she has a place in a world without Arthur or Lyanna or Elia, just her.

When Wylla tells Ned that Jon is finally strong enough to travel - he has seen two moons, but Ashara thinks that if all had gone normally this is right around the time he should have been born - her mind is made up.

She has always felt an illicit thrill in using her charm, and she is secretly excited for the chance to do so again tonight.

It is the hour of the wolf when he opens his door to find her standing there in her finest lace nightdress, and when she hears him draw in a sharp breath, she lets a smile spread across her face, knowing she has him.

"Ashara," he breathes. He scrubs a hand across his face then runs his fingers through his hair, leaving it sticking up in a way that she finds oddly endearing. "What are you- "

She steps past him into the room, allowing him to get a glimpse of her exposed back, then turns and faces him. "I want you to take me with you," she says. "When you leave."

"I - but how -" Ashara silences him by stepping closer and placing a finger over his lips. His eyes widen, but never leave hers.

"My plans are made," she says. "Hardly anyone knew my mother was still alive. It will be given out that the lady of Starfall jumped in her grief, and everyone will assume it was grief for a brother rather than a son. Drin will take the secret to his grave, the servants are sworn to silence, and Allyria will forget I was ever here."

He surprises her then by taking her wrist - so, so gently - and lowering her hand from his mouth. "But why, Ashara?"

She is taken aback by the question. "I- to start over. Somewhere new."

"But why me?" And just like that, she finds herself won over by the vulnerability in his eyes and his voice. She is shocked by it, really. The girls she has always found herself attracted to were bold, sure of themselves, vivacious. Lyanna had been the pinnacle of them all. But Howland is different, intuitive and thoughtful and a man, and she is no longer sure how to proceed.

"You understand me," she finally tells him. "You knew what I needed before I even knew."

He looks at her with such tentative hope that she can only smile back. "Greywater Watch would be honored to host you as long as you need."

Before she goes, she kisses him on the cheek, just lightly, and is rewarded by seeing his eyes briefly flutter shut like a maiden, and Ashara thinks that perhaps she will be in the Neck for some time.

The days traveling North are short and the route indirect, with Ned sometimes riding far out of the way to find milk for Jon. He is often exhausted by day's end, and Ashara does not mind staying up with the baby to soothe him - she was always good with Rhaenys, after all, and though it is strange to think, Jon is his sister.

The baby has just fallen asleep when she finally lays him down on the ground next to Ned, but Ashara is not yet tired. She glances over to where Howland is curled up resting under a tree, barely illuminated by the moonlight.

 _It would be more generous to let him rest,_ part of her thinks, and she is not quite sure what she is doing when she steals across to him and slides under his blanket.

He raises his head to look at her sleepily before his eyes widen.

"Ashara? Is there a problem? What -" He shakes his head, as if trying to clear it. "What are you doing?"

She curls in close to him - she's taller than he is while they are standing, but like this she can put her head under his chin. Reflexively, he wraps an arm around her back, rubbing his hand in slow circles that make her shiver unexpectedly. "I don't know," she tells him.

"Look at me," he whispers, and when she turns her head up he kisses her.

It is slow and sweet and exploring, and she is surprised by how much more she wants. She rolls onto her back and lets him settle between her thighs, holding him with legs and arms and letting him kiss her in a way that is clearly inexperienced and heartbreakingly earnest.

She stops him to remove his tunic and run her hands across his torso - skinny but strong - making him close his eyes. She pulls off her shift and lays under him in only her smallclothes, and suddenly his eyes are open and tracing down her body and he can't stop looking in a way that makes her feel oddly vulnerable.

"Well?" she finally asks him.

"Beautiful," he breathes, and she lets out breath she hadn't realized she'd been holding. "Beautiful, you're so _beautiful,_ Ashara, like a goddess, I- "

He leans down to kiss her again, like he can't help it, and she is nervous but she wants more. Everything.

"Are you a maiden?" he asks her, and even before Lyanna she had never been quite sure how to answer that question.

"I've never been with a man," she tells him honestly, and his eyes widen and she thinks he understands.

"I don't know what I'm doing either," he says, and she is strangely touched by this. "We'll figure it out together. You're a goddess, Ashara, and I'm going to worship you."

He is good to his word, so incredibly reverent. With Lyanna, Ashara had always took the lead, always wanted to make the other girl feel good, but now she is basking in having her turn. Howland proves a fast learner, devoted to doing everything to her, kissing every inch of skin as the moon sinks low in the sky before they finally come together.

Poor, oblivious Ned doesn't even suspect a thing the next morning.

-

Her labor is easy, just a few hours before her tiny, beautiful daughter is born. True to his word, there is no maester at Greywater Watch, only a midwife and Howland himself in the room.

He still looks at her with the same awe he did months ago, even though she is sweaty and exhausted, and holds the baby so carefully her heart feels like a vessel overflowing.

"What should we name her?" she whispers, and when he meets her eyes she can tell he is thinking the same thing she is. _Lyanna,_ who is on both their minds.

But they are trying to let the past go, to start fresh. The fires of the past have been put out in the cool, forgiving Neck, and she has no intention to let them relight. Their baby will not be touched by politics or the horrors of war.

"Meera," he proclaims. "For my mother."

"Meera," she repeats. "I love it."

And when he lays the baby on her chest and crawls into the bed beside her, she feels like the ghosts of their past can finally be put to rest.


End file.
